Hold On Tight (Take My Hand)
Read Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) Online
Authors: Nicola Haken
Hold On Tight
by Nicola
Haken
Hold On Tight
Copyright
©
2013
Nicola Wall
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events
are created from the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to any actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without
written permission from the author, except in the case of critics or reviewers
who may quote brief passages in their review. If you are reading this eBook and
have not purchased it or won it in a blogger/author competition then you are
reading a pirated version. Please support the author by deleting this copy and
purchasing it from an authorised distributor.
Dedicated to my sister-in-law and best friend in the whole world
Keeley
. Thank you for being as crazy and immature as I am.
I love you,
Keeya
Girly!
Prologue
~Dexter~
“
That’s
awesome, sweet cheeks. Your mom’s gonna love it.” Aunt Sarah put the dragon
mask I’d made on the back seat of her car before opening my door for me to climb
inside.
“I made it for you.”
“Oh, honey. I love it – really I do… but
don’t you think your mom would like some of the things you’ve made too?” I
would like to give my mom things to keep but they always end up broken. And I
loved my mask. I’d worked really hard for three days making sure it was just
the right color green. I painted it this one green but it was too bright to be
a scary dragon so I had to paint it again with a darker green. Philip Myers
said it was a stupid green but I thought it looked just great. Philip Myers is
stupid. I don’t like him.
“But I made it for you.”
“Ok, sweet cheeks. In that case, thank you. I love
it.” Aunt Sarah smiled at me funny and then started driving the car. I didn’t
want to go home yet but Aunt Sarah works at night in the hospital helping moms
get their babies out so I had no choice. “So how’re you liking first grade?
You’re
very
grown up now.”
“It’s okay.”
“You got a girlfriend yet?”
“Eww, no. Tamara wanted to hold my hand today but
I told her she was icky.” Aunt Sarah laughed at me. She does that a lot. She
must think I’m really funny.
When the car started moving more slowerer I knew
we were nearly home. I looked at the window at the front of our house and my
mom wasn’t standing there. I don’t like it when she’s not there. It means my
dad is home. I like my dad. He’s big and strong…kind of like Superman, but he
can’t fly. But I don’t think he likes me very much. I want him to think I’m
funny like Aunt Sarah does but if I try to say funny things he just gets mad at
me. Mom says he’s not mad, he’s just tired. That’s why I go to sleep very early
every night so Dad can go to bed too and I won’t wake him up.
But he still gets tired a lot. Sometimes when he’s
tired he does mean stuff to Mom. He gets mad at her and hits her real hard. I
hit Philip Myers real hard once and Mrs. Fletcher shouted at me in front of the
whole class. But there is nobody to shout at Dad when he gets angry. When I’m
older and bigger
I
will shout at him…
maybe then I won’t be so scared of him hitting me too. If I’m bigger it won’t
hurt as much so maybe he can just hit me instead.
“Are you sure about the mask?” Aunt Sarah opened
my door for me while I clicked my seatbelt off.
“Uh huh.”
“You’re a sweet boy, Dex.” My mom says that - she
thinks I’m sweet too. Sometimes she sneaks into my bedroom when she thinks I’m
sleeping and gives me a cuddle. I like that. I love my mom a lot. “Come on.
Let’s get you inside.”
My dad opened the door for us and told me to get
inside. I ducked under his arm and started taking my coat off. I think Aunt
Sarah wanted to come in too but my dad didn’t move so she didn’t have enough
room. I don’t think my dad likes Aunt Sarah. Sometimes I don’t think she likes
my dad too. They say mean stuff to each other when they think I can’t hear them
but I always do. Our house is a tiny house so if I sit at the top of the stairs
I can hear everything.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked Dad. Dad doesn’t like me
asking lots of questions but Mom is normally waiting for me downstairs and I
couldn’t find her.
“None of your fucking business.” I think dad was
tired. He always says bad words when he’s tired. I wonder if when I’m older
I’ll say bad words when I’m tired too? My mom and Aunt Sarah don’t say bad
words so maybe only boys do it.
Dad sat down on the couch and turned the TV on.
There was football playing on the little screen so I knew he would be sitting
there for a while. If Dad was tired I didn’t think Mom would let him take care
of me on his own so I went upstairs to find her. She was in her bedroom, lying
down on her bed.
“Mom?” I said it quietly in case she was sleeping.
She couldn’t have been sleeping because she rolled over and smiled at me.
“Hey, baby.” Her voice sounded weird – like
she’d been sneezing a lot. Mom patted the bed and I ran over and jumped on it.
Her eyes were watery. I think she’d been crying. Mom cries a lot. I think she
gets sad but she says she’s just tired. I hope I don’t get tired when I’m
older. Being tired doesn’t seem so nice. “Aren’t you going to give Mommy a
hug?”
“I’m too old to call you Mommy now. Wayne said
only babies say Mommy and I’m six. But I’ll still hug you because you’re my mom
and I’ve missed you today.”
“Oh, baby, I’ve missed you too.” Mom held her arms
out and I crawled onto her knee. I put my hands around her back and squeezed
her real tight but then she made a funny noise. I make noises like that when I
bang my knee or my elbow. I make that noise because it hurts.
“Did I hurt you, Mom?” She did that weird smile
again. Lots of people do that weird smile. I wonder if I’ll do that weird smile
when I’m older too.
“No, baby. Mommy’s just got a tummy ache. But your
cuddles make it all better.” I like making Mom feel better. I just wish I could
stop her and Dad feeling so tired all the time. Maybe if I’m gooder and spend
more time in my bedroom they can go to sleep longer. Maybe then Dad will stop
yelling and Mom will stop crying.
Yes. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll be gooder.
~Dexter~
I
blinked forcefully several times – unsure if
he was really there or the beads of sweat trickling down my forehead from the
run had seeped into my disbelieving eyes and distorted my vision. But with
every blink my sight became clearer.
He really
was
there.
My
father really
was
standing right in front
of me.
My heart really
had
stopped beating.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I growled,
breathing deeply and balling my hands into tight fists as I prepared to punch
his fucking lights out over and over again.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, son-”
“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” I blared, feeling physically
sick at the idea I was in any way related to this vile excuse of a man.
“This house is still mine, Dexter. Your mother and
I never actually divorced, so now she’s gone… I’ve come for what’s mine.” My
breathing was harsh and rapid, and my hands were balled so tightly my nails
were cutting into the flesh of my palms.
“I’m giving you ten seconds to get the hell out of
this house before I do something we’ll both regret,” I threatened firmly
– counting backwards from ten in my mind.
“Now now, son. Don’t you think that temper of
yours has caused you enough trouble already?”
I don’t remember how I got over to him. All I
remember was the feeling of the flesh on his cheeks as it tore open against my
knuckles, the sound of his nose cracking against my fist… and the strangled
cries of Emily screaming at me to stop.
“Maybe you should listen to that girl of yours,”
he said mockingly, with a twisted smile as he wiped the drips of blood seeping
from his nose on the back of his hand. “I saved you from a lot of trouble once,
boy. I won’t be so lenient again.” What the fuck was that supposed to mean? If
he was referring to the night I destroyed my mom’s life, how was running away
never to be seen again ‘saving’ me?
The only people responsible for preventing me
getting exactly what I deserved that night were Aunt Sarah, and the officer in
charge who attended the scene. I can’t remember her name, but I’m damn sure I’d
recognize her if we ever crossed paths again. When ‘it’ happened there was only
myself, my mom and my dad in the house. Within seconds of the trigger being
pulled my dad was gone. Within minutes, after receiving a call from me, Aunt
Sarah was there too. Time stopped moving then, so I don’t know how long it took
for the place to become swarming with cops and medics – but it did.
I was a quivering wreck, huddled in the
corner crying into my knees by the time the ambulance had left with my mom.
Uniformed officers tried to question me but I didn’t hear a word they said. It
was an hour or so later when they called in the big wigs, and soon enough Aunt
Sarah and I were being interviewed by no less than a homicide lieutenant.
It was in fact the lieutenant who
collaborated with Aunt Sarah in basically spouting a whole heap of shit to get
me off the hook. I know. Makes no sense to me either. When Aunt Sarah broke
down and confessed what actually happened, this supposed law-abiding, pillar of
the community, supposed to catch the bad guys fuckin’ chief of police… advised
Aunt Sarah to say she’d seen the whole thing and that it was my father who
pulled the gun. Apparently the fact that he’d disappeared, coupled with the
markings to my mom’s body, would fit the ‘story’ perfectly.
Everyone seemed to believe it. Our
faces flooded the newspapers and local news channels in the following days and
messages of support poured in from every corner. Support for my mom… support
for me.
ME!
To this day I have no clue why the hell
she would do such a thing. Maybe she had her own experience of domestic abuse?
Maybe she was part of some women’s freakin’ rights team? Hell if I know.
I never wanted to go through with it.
At first I adamantly refused. I deserved to be punished for what I did. I
wanted
to be punished. I
needed
to be punished. But Aunt Sarah
pleaded with me. Literally falling to her hands and knees, clutching at my
clothes as she begged me not to leave her too. So in the end I kept my mouth
shut and nodded along with the lies being tossed around. I’ve regretted it
every day since. Maybe if I’d been rightly punished back then, I wouldn’t feel
the need to do it myself.
“You’ve no idea what happened after you
left that night,” I sneered. “It’s not
me
the police are interested in. So maybe you should leave before I give ‘em a
call.” Still dabbing at his bloody nose with his hand, he laughed at me.
Fucking LAUGHED at me. That was what forced my hand into the air again, ready
to take an even harder swing.
“Dexter no,” Emily begged, tugging at
my arm with all her strength. “He’s not worth it.” Breathing heavily through
pursed lips I made myself focus on her terrified face, knowing if I looked away
for even a second, I would forget all about her and end up ramming my fist into
my father’s skull. “Please go,” Emily said softly to my dad, almost like she
was trying to appeal to a sensitive side
I
knew he didn’t have. “He’s only
just
lost
his mum. Give him some time at least will you?”
“Emily what the fu-” I was about to ask
her what the fuck she was doing, talking to him like he was a reasonable human
being and not a sadistic motherfucking bastard. But,
he
cut me off.
“You know, son…” I swallowed forcefully
and closed my eyes, desperately trying not to react to that word he didn’t
deserve to use on me. “I had hoped things could’ve been different tonight -
that we could start over perhaps.”
“I’d burn in hell before I’d agree to
that,” I seethed, taking a protective stance in front of Emily when he made a
slow approach towards us. I didn’t want him so much as looking at her – never
mind breathing the same air.
“As you wish. Well, I’ve said what I
came to say so I’ll be off now,” he announced calmly, stepping past me and
reaching out for the door handle. “But I
will
be back, son. This house is mine.”
And then he left. He barreled back into
my life, ripped it to fucking shreds, and then left.
Spinning around to face Emily and
cocooning her in my arms, I sucked in a purposeful breath for the first time
since I saw his face.
“What the fuck am I gonna do, doll?” I
asked before kissing her hair. “He’s gonna destroy us. Again.”
**********
A couple of hours passed before Aunt
Sarah got home. I was eager to know how her appointment with my mom’s attorney
went because it seemed we might have a fight on our hands. This house was all
she had left and I’d be damned if I’d let my father destroy her just like he
did my mom.
Everything I needed to know was written
in her expression when she walked through the door. It was bad news.
“It’s him isn’t it?” I snapped
unintentionally. “My father.” Perplexity washed over her face as she walked
tentatively towards where Emily and I were sitting and lowered herself onto the
chair opposite.
“How did you…” Aunt Sarah trailed off,
unable to finish her question.
“DAMN that motherfucker!” I blasted,
jumping from the chair and smashing my tender fist into the wall –
wishing it were my father’s face.
“Dexter calm down,” Emily soothed. I
didn’t hear her get up but she was beside me now, stroking between my tense
shoulder blades. “Your anger isn’t going to help anyone.”
“Emily?” Aunt Sarah questioned when it
became obvious I was too fucking angry to talk rationally.
“His dad showed up here earlier. Dexter
was out – I wouldn’t have let him in if I’d known who he was.”
“He was here? Martin was
here
?” Aunt Sarah’s cheeks, rosy from
the bitter cold outside, paled immediately. “But… that’s not possible,” she
mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. Emily and I snapped our gazes towards
her in unison. “About an hour ago… I was told your father was dead.”
Huh?
“Well who the fuck told you that?” I
asked, staring down at my knuckles, eyeing up the dried abrasions – proof
he was really here.
“Your mom’s attorney. Obviously she
never divorced your father and I needed to know he wouldn’t be bothering us for
any of her assets. That’s when he told me that Martin died almost ten years
ago. A couple of weeks after the accident.” I wish people would stop referring
to it as ‘the accident’. I picked up that gun intentionally. I deserve people
to come right out and admit that I shot my own mother.
“I don’t understand,” I said to no one
in particular. “He was
here
. He said
he’d come for the house and that he’d be back. He was here, Aunt Sarah. He was
fucking here!”
Excruciatingly long minutes of silence
followed – the only sound was that of Emily’s hand smoothing over my
jeans as she tried to calm me.
“Maybe we should contact the police?”
Emily suggested, encroaching the deafening stillness.
“We can’t,” Aunt Sarah and I muttered
sorrowfully at the same time.
“Not yet anyway,” Aunt Sarah
interjected. “I don’t know how much of that day you know about, Emily, but… in
order to protect Dexter… we had to lie to the police. As far as they’re
concerned… Martin pulled the trigger that day. We can’t afford for that case to
be re-opened.”
“See? I said all along it’d come back
to bite us on the ass didn’t I? WE brought this on. Nobody else. I never wanted
to fuckin’ lie in the first place!” I blared, unfairly weighing down Aunt
Sarah’s shoulders with the blame.
“I went along with it because I love
you goddammit! I will
never
apologize
for that, Dexter. You were just a boy! You made a mistake. I couldn’t see you
rot away in jail back then and I
still
won’t
now. I need you okay? I’ve got no one else!” It was only when Aunt Sarah’s
voice started breaking and she threw her trembling hands over her face I began
to soften.
“I’m sorry. I just… I just don’t know
what we’re going to do,” I admitted, my resolve weakening by the second.
“So… he’s supposed to be dead right?” Emily
said with a contemplative look on her face. “So
he’s
obviously running from something too. Which also means I doubt
he’d want the police involved either.” She continued.
“Meaning?” I interrupted a little more
offhand than intended.
“Meaning, he’ll know if he brings you
down he’ll be going down with you. If we can work out what he’s hiding then
both parties have leverage. Then we can either compromise, or wait and see
who’s prepared to take it furthest.”
“I won’t compromise with that man.
Ever,” I retorted.
“She’s got a point, honey,” Aunt Sarah
interrupted. “At the moment, I don’t think we have another choice than to sit
it out and wait and see what he’s proposing. If we can try and find out why
he’s supposed to be dead in the meantime? Well, that can’t do any harm and
might indeed help us get rid of him. It’s worth a shot, Dex.”
“For fuck’s sake, have you
heard
yourselves?” I roared, huffing a
sarcastic laugh. “This isn’t an episode of fuckin’ Columbo! Next you’ll be
askin’ me to wear a long brown overcoat and freakin’ sunglasses!” And before
you start, yes I know Columbo didn’t wear fucking sunglasses. I was pissed and
not paying particular attention to the dress-sense of one of TV’s most iconic
detectives.
“Dexter, please…” Emily begged. “Calm
down.”
“I can’t fuckin’ calm down!” I yelled,
the words cutting into my throat like razor blades. “I’ve gotta get out of
here,” I announced, ripping through my hair with my fingers and turning for the
door.
“Dexter, please!” Emily sobbed. “You
promised you wouldn’t do this!” I heard her but selfishly I refused to listen.
“Dexter!” she screamed, but I was so far down the street by then her voice was
nothing more than a strained whisper.
It was less than a minute later when I
strolled ashamedly back into the house. I’d just done the one thing I’d
promised Emily not to do again. I ran.
“I’m sorry,” I said ruefully, closing
the door behind me. Emily clasped a hand to her chest and, looking relieved,
she ran over to me.
“You came back,” she whispered against
my chest. Enfolding her in my arms I kissed her fiery hair before muttering a
pathetic apology.
“I shouldn’t have gone in the first
place. I promised you. I’m so sorry, doll.”
“But you came back,” she repeated,
nuzzling my shirt.
“I um, I just need a minute,” I declared
softly in Emily’s ear. She looked up at me with doleful eyes which silently
begged me to stay with her. “Hey, I’ll just be upstairs, doll. Need to clear my
head that’s all,” I assured, promising her with my intense gaze. “I’m not
running. I promise.”
There’s a loose tile in the corner of
the bathroom, hidden by the fluffy pink mat Aunt Sarah picked up at a
travelling market a few years back. After peeling back the mat I gently teased
the edge of the tile up and tucked my fingers beneath it, plucking out the
little clear baggie buried underneath. The cistern was no good anymore –
that’d be the first place Aunt Sarah would look if she ever got suspicious.
